


(you’re) the breakup songs talk about

by st_elsewhere



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bets & Wagers, Bottom Clark, Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, Mirror Sex, Porn With Plot, Riding, Rimming, Secret Identity, Size Kink, Top Bruce, a lil bit of mind games too, batfleck and supescavill for visual, read it in disorganised order, they both aren't batman and superman yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6482599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_elsewhere/pseuds/st_elsewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i'm trying to be witty a.k.a inspired by henry cavill's real life relationship with a 19 yo student and ben affleck's character in 'gone girl' movie because he had an affair with a much younger student, too.</p><p>or:<br/>just like every other cliche stories, it all starts with a bet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(you’re) the breakup songs talk about

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TsukinoKei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsukinoKei/gifts).



> who is actually me, because we're bottom!clark team all day errday.  
>   
> i accept kudos, comments, and pr0n plots because DON'T WE NEED MOAR BOTTOM!CLARK? *nods nods*  
>   
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_**(ii)** _

“clark... kent?”

clark looks up from the library’s computer, a browser full of metropolis’ new drug kingpin articles is minimized. he meets the dark blue eyes of a quite familiar man with heavy stubble decorating his tired but good looking face.

it’s the man from the lot! losing his cool, clark bangs his knees under the table as he gets up, making unnecessary noises in the town library’s front desk. the man is taller than him, and his deep chuckle is thankfully not condescending.

“that must be hurt.” the man comments, easy like the drizzle of rain gracing metropolis since dawn. there are a few droplets on the man’s black pullover. in the daylight, his broad shoulders and long torso are impressive.

“h-hi. sir.” clark greets the man with what ma tells him as his greatest asset; a summery smile. it’s early november.

the man smiles back, and his looks like a november smile, alright. “it’s bruce.”

 _bruce,_ clark repeats slowly in his head. “bruce. hi. um, what can i help you with?” and he doesn’t care if he sounds too eager. it’s wednesday afternoon. business is slow on metropolis’ town library, and mrs. smith isn’t within hearing range to catch any of clark’s eagerness. the head librarian sure loves her daily dose of gossips. riii~ght. time to keep your heart from your sleeve like a good old cold city boy!

“can you help me getting a nice lunch around here?” bruce nods his head toward the front door. “i’m not familiar with the city.”

oh god. _oh my god_ it’s happening. clark is diving head first to a pool of possibly morally ambiguous adventure with the most charismatic man he’s ever encountered. how clich—no. how _exciting_. he’s been thinking about it for _weeks_ ; has his mind running different scenarios of how it will play out and what will be the consequences if he takes the role of a poor, virginal, supposedly straight protagonist. 

the fact that bruce is (kinda) everything he wants to be when he grows up doesn’t help, really. clark will be the lighter version of bruce when he’s older; charismatic, good looking, _hot_ , but not brooding.

“clark?”

our supposedly poor, virginal, straight protagonist is snapping back to reality where bruce’s broad shoulders are slumped.

“sorry.” clark licks his lips, blushes because his fingers itch to reach out to touch bruce’s broad shoulders just now. “i mean, sure? right in time for lunch break. umm, do you like the fifties themed diner? the strawberry milkshake is to die for, bruce. bacon and maple syrup waffle? deep fried cheese balls?”

bruce holds up one large hand and tells clark to lead the way.

 

 

 

_**(iv)** _

he’s twenty; far away from home for the first time, experiencing what he thinks the pop stars sing about love on the radio, and is confused as to why can’t he be just like any other protagonist on those love songs?

heh.

no. scratch that.

clark is baffled by his own _confusion_ as to why can’t he be just like any other protagonist on those love songs. he should’ve known. they have never exchanged numbers or emails—it was always bruce showing up at the library or just outside of his dorm—and clark tries, alright, he tries to call bruce wayne’s office in gotham, naively hoping that he’ll get through by telling the robotic female voice from the other end _that it’s clark kent of metropolis speaking, please tell bruce it’s him_ —the doomed i miss you left unsaid. clark tries. he sends emails to [_inquiry@wayneent.com_](mailto:inquiry@wayneent.com) and applies for an intern position once.

he tries and tries and he gets nothing. no answers. no explanations. bruce wayne has reportedly been missing from boards meetings and his annual charity events, says the gotham gazette. this wouldn’t be the first time, claims the gotham chronicle, the billionaire philanthropist has done it numerous times before, always without a trace all thanks to his money.

but has he ever done it—running away, there’s no other words to describe it—while breaking a young man’s heart?

 

 

 

_**(i)** _

he’s nineteen; far away from home for the first time, already _thinks_ he’s in love, and so, just like every other cliche stories, it all starts with a bet.

lana gives clark her trademarked, super cute scrunchy nose smile as zack begins to elaborate his ultimate bet. clark is well aware that his background—being a farmer’s son from smallville getting into metropolis university by football scholarship, another cliche, really—is the only setback for him to get into any clique. he’s _the_ glorious cornerback but he’s never flashy enough to drink himself silly at after parties. he reads comic books and enjoys solitude but he’s too ‘sculpted’ (actual adjective from some self-proclaimed nerd who shooed him away) to be... well... a _nerd_. not to mention he doesn’t own a car and he lives in the dorm for free.

that, and lana is with the popular crowd.

“—n’t accept a shy, virginal smooching, kent, you have to kiss the man like you mean it!”

‘the lot’ is one of the busiest bars in the heart of metropolis, usually packed with the younger patrons just like clark and his so-called friends to be. the man sitting in the corner of the bar, facing them, shots of cheap vodka in front of him, is not exactly out of place, zack said when he got the idea for clark’s turn, _his aura is just different, dude, like, who the hell broods on a friday night?!_

zack forgot to mention that the brooding man looks _huge_ even slouching in his black jacket, with his bigbigbig hands dwarfing the vodka shots and his dark stubble decorating a set of grim lips that clark is going to kiss.

(there’s also another possibility that zack just wants to watch clark bleed tonight. clark should’ve known. zack is the rich weirdo who’s friends with everyone and is pretty much obsessed with clark’s everything, say, clark’s unprescribed glasses and his impressive health record. clark is sure zack picked the silly bet hoping the brooding man to do his dirty job. zack wants to prove a theory.)

 _do i bleed?_ clark glances at the brooding man across the room, and smiles ironically. _i guess i’ll have to try._

“kent? kent! come on, we haven’t got all night! we’re going to a rave, remember? don’t tell me you’re bailing out to take that man home!” zack’s carefully mocking voice booms in his ears. clark tunes him out along with the rest of the whooping from their friends. he gets up, making a show of dusting off fish bites crumbs from his blue jeans.

“wish me luck?” he says to humor zack, raising one bushy eyebrow. zack salutes him with a wink. lana keeps their eye contact and clark is telling himself that he’s got nothing to lose. lana is worth a punch or two. or a humiliation if the man decides to yell at him.

right.

clark has to get through a number of people before he can sit down next to the brooding man. who smells like the ocean; fresh but musky. clark orders a glass of rum and coke to the bartender, takes a big gulp, and smiles.

“um, sir?” the first thought that comes when clark gets the brooding man’s attention is about how good looking that tired face is, even behind the heavy stubble. the eyes are dark blue, like the ocean. “hi. um, my name is clark and my friend said it’s a good bet to kiss you.”

the left corner of brooding man’s thin lips is forming an easy smirk. the exact kind that is often seen on celebrities. or politicians.

clark can hear his own deafening heartbeats.

“really now?” the brooding man’s eyes are looking down at clark’s dry lips for a second and clark pushes his glasses up his nose. he feels hot in his red checkered shirt. the brooding man sounds nothing like he had imagined.

“yeah. i suppose i have to apologize first,” clark stammers, feeling his throat closing up on him. “but, um, may i?”

“may you what?” the brooding man is clearly enjoying this. his broad shoulders are relaxed, his long mile legs clad in dark washed denim fall open like an invitation, and he’s staring at clark like he’s willing to have his time wasted for whatever nonsense university kids are doing these days.

trust zack for picking out the most _charismatic_ , brooding man in the lot.

“may i kiss you?” clark almost wishes for a punch or two or a humiliation. but he adds just to be polite, “sir?”

“ha.” the still anonymous man shakes his head at the way clark addresses him. “sure thing, kiddo. which one is your friend?”

“the small one with the dreamy look.” clark points at zack who’s watching them like a drugged hawk. lana has a curious look on her pretty face, and just like the rest of their friends, she’s waiting.

the no longer brooding man nods at zack. his deep laugh is stirring clark’s blood as they watch zack grins like a disturbing maniac. another apology is ready to be verbalized, but when clark turns to face the man, he sees a swift movement and then there are cold fingers on the hairline of his nape, pulling him down he has to hold onto the bar _and_ the man’s solid thigh for balance.

clark makes a surprised sound and the man takes the cue to plunge his tongue into clark’s mouth, his grip tightening the slightest on clark’s nape. the man, obviously older and more experienced, is pushing buttons clark never knew he had. instead of leading the kiss just like clark had done about five times in his nineteen year old life, clark _follows_. he’s closing his eyes the second the man hums questioningly at him, and he moves his hand from the man’s thigh to clutch at the broadbroadbroad shoulders, the other comes after when the man sneaks a hand to palm clark’s ass off of the stool.

right into the welcoming invitation of his legs and hard chest.

“nnnmmmh—” clark swallows down a moan and knows they’ve exchanged saliva. the man, as predicted, has a bittersweet taste in him and clark doesn’t think he minds it that much.

he _does_ mind when the man stops kissing him, though.

when clark opens his eyes, glasses askew and a little bit foggy, still holding on tightly to the broad shoulders—the man chuckles in disbelief, probably at clark’s spectacularly failed feigned indifference. unlike clark, he’s breathing just fine like he didn’t just brand a deep impression in some poor, virginal, straight university student’s heart. no. in fact, he doesn’t look at all _affected_ even though clark can hear the faint increase of his pulse.

the man fixes clark’s glasses and pinches the cleft on clark’s chin softly before rubbing his calloused thumb to clark’s bottom lip, his smile is all ironic and still tired but very, very good looking nonetheless.

“had your fun?” the man asks, squeezing one hand on clark’s lower spine before letting go.

“i, uh.” clark sniffs. he untangles his arms from the man’s broad shoulders and knocks his right elbow against the bar. it’s not painful but his grimace is already a habit. he says when the man makes a sympathetic face at his perfectly fine elbow, “not bad, sir.”

“ _‘not bad’_.” the man’s smile is predatory to say the least. “it’s a wonder i’m not insulted by your honesty, clark.”

if clark was the lesser human he is not, his knees would’ve given out at this situation.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to—” clark stops when the man tuts at him. “i’ll go. thank you so much for the, umm, cooperation. i’m sorry. have a good night!”

(later, lana lets him hold her hand on their way to the rave. she dances with him and kisses him goodbye in front of her sorority house. clark doesn’t close his eyes.)

 

 

 

_**(iii)** _

“when you brood like this, you look waaaaa~y older than thirty two.”

bruce barks a joyful laugh. he throws the daily planet he’s been reading with so much force clark can’t hear his squeal as bruce grabs him by the waistband of his frayed track pants, one hand squeezing his crotch oh so conveniently while clark stumbles to his lap.

“bruce! i was just going to get a glass of water!” clark thrashes around but the older man is having none of it. they’re both shirtless, still soft from sleep, with bruce sitting on the hotel of the month’s plush sofa when clark wakes up. clark just couldn’t stop his mouth from teasing his not-boyfriend on a sunny sunday morning, a rare occurrence on bruce’s monthly visit to metropolis at the end of the month. usually bruce managed to free his time to have lunch or dinner with clark and they slept together after the third time, _very_ long overdue but clark wouldn’t mind waiting longer. bruce is just that amazing in bed. there’s no other word to describe how bruce fucks him.

speaking of.

“you liked what this old man did to you,” bruce has clark back facing him in his lap, his mouth is hot on clark’s nape. his hands are palming clark’s traitorous erection as he rolls his hips against clark’s ass, and he chuckles when clark blurts out a moan. “who’s begging for an old man’s cock just hours ago, hm?”

clark blushes. he did beg last night. he had needed it _bad_ and bruce gave it to him hard and fast on his hands and knees, ass high in the air, his purpling cock abandoned. he didn’t know that it was possible to cry during mind-blowing sex.

“that i did,” clark faux grumbles, pinching the back of bruce’s hands. “get off. at least let’s get breakfast first!”

“nah, i’ve had enough of hotel foods.” bruce runs his palms up, up, up until he can rub clark’s nipples with his thumbs. “i’ll take you out for breakfast after this.” he presses feather-like kisses down, down, down from clark’s nape to the wide expanse of clark’s back, and he keeps kissing lower, his deft, big hands are tugging off clark’s frayed track pants—and bruce _isn’t_ stopping there. he pushes clark to bend his waist, to rest his upper body on the unmade bed with his ass, again, hanging in the air.

“after what?” clark gasps when bruce flicks the tip of his tongue against the rim of said ass.

bruce growls _you know what_ and he opens his mouth wide, scraping his teeth on clark’s sensitive skin. his thumbs are spreading clark’s ass cheeks for easier access, and when he spits into clark’s awaiting hole, clark’s whole body shudders.

this is new. clark craves the praises bruce gives to him when he has bruce’s cock in his mouth. he’s not sure how this one goes. does he guide bruce to eat his ass deeper? to spit more because he thinks he can take bruce’s cock next without any lube?

_how about adding a finger or two, bruce, and milk my prostrate just so i will beg for your cock again to finish the job?_

clark whines at the dirty thought. he’s drooling. he feels filthy as blood fills his hard cock. hell, he feels _slutty_ when he thrusts back in rhythm, liking the slurping sounds coming from his hole loosening on bruce’s skillful tongue, wanting more and more of bruce’s stubble burns on his skin.

“bruce—ah—!” he lifts his head, sees a glimpse of the red flush on his face and on his neck and chest—and well, it’s safe to say that clark didn’t know he’s had _it_ in him. he didn’t know it turns him on beyond his capability of being slutty to watch himself in the vanity mirror just right below the flat screen. 

no, really.

he looks _beautiful_. his sky blue eyes are consumed with the black pupils, his raven curls are bouncing in time with the fluid movements of his hips. his pink lips are in a constant ‘O’ whenever bruce licks a particular tingly spot, and his expression is screaming pure bliss.

bruce stiffens his tongue, pistoning in and out like a machine while fondling with clark’s heavy balls. clark’s whole body shudders again when he feels a trail of saliva running down to his hard cock, and he shouts gibberish when bruce smears the saliva on his hard cock before giving it a good, short strokes.

“oh- _oh_ —no, bruce, i want you in me—don’t want to—” clark reaches blindly behind, accidentally slapping the side of bruce’s head. bruce curses under his breath and lets go of everything.

clark isn’t even ashamed of his cry of protest.

bruce chuckles, not unkindly. he takes off his own pajama pants just enough to get his cock out. after spitting on his left hand, he begins stroking it furiously, the veins on the underside of his cock is throbbing.

“work for it then,” he says as he raises one challenging eyebrow and clark’s hole clenches shamelessly looking at the older man’s trademarked smirk.

“i—” clark wants to watch himself taking bruce’s cock like a good boy, but he just pissed off bruce, didn't he? he’ll get what he wants next time. he’s taking what he can get now.

clark wobbles to climb to bruce’s lap, minding his weight. bruce almost passed out the last time clark rode him because he was too enthusiastic he forgot about his power. but bruce doesn’t seem to remember it, his dark blue eyes are as dark as the storm and they’re gradually softening when clark apologizes quietly.

“‘s fine,” bruce is kissing him back, his bigbigbig hands are splayed on clark’s waist. “you tasted good.”

clark blushes even more and suddenly he turns shy. he takes both of their cocks and strokes them lazily, murmuring what he wants like he just didn’t have bruce’s tongue in his ass a moment ago.

“what was that?” bruce asks. “where’s the condom?”

“no no no, no, bruce can we, um.” clark cages bruce’s face in his shaking hands. bruce frowns but turns his attention fully to him. “can i feel you without it? i’m clean, i had checked last week. i-i bring the result in my backpack.”

“hmm.” bruce is still frowning. he presses one thumb to clark’s bottom lip. “it’ll be messy.”

“it’ll be _yours_.” clark decides to suck bruce’s thumb, licking it hopefully wantonly. he swears he didn’t know he’s _this_ slutty. “please?”

“well aren't you insatiable?" bruce’s smile is close to a summery one, and he’s wordlessly putting in his index and middle fingers to clark’s mouth. “get them wet.”

clark does his best.

“lift up a little.” bruce squeezes his left ass cheek and his wet fingers are pushing inside clark’s hole with minimum resistance. “jesus christ,” bruce whispers in awe, already in to the second knuckles. “you’re the best.”

“ah—” clark grits his teeth when bruce scissors his fingers, trying to get him looser. “please bruce.”

“you’re _unbelievable_.” bruce is back to being joyful, and clark shouts again when bruce doesn’t pull his fingers out even as he pushes in his cock.

bruce only does that when his cock is inside clark to the hilt, his hipbones meeting the supple flesh of clark’s ass.

going bareback is different. there’s no thin latex separating them to become one. clark is smug about getting what he wants, thanking his superhuman body immune because he knows he would never want bruce any other way but like this. bruce’s bare cock is scorching _hot_ in him, every twitch and throb is heightening the sensation of coupling between two men. clark feels like getting punched in the chest—in a good way—when bruce spurts out a tiny bit of precum in him, and he gets a fond laugh when he tells bruce exactly that.

“cute.”

“shut up.”

bruce makes an unimpressed face. he pulls his cock out fully before slamming back in, repeats, and clark is the one who can’t shut up. his thighs are straining from holding up his weight, because even when he’s on top, bruce controls everything. he sets the pace, fucking into clark harder and deeper than the last time. clark is wet everywhere. his chest is getting tight for he can’t control his hearing from listening to the _slickslickslick_ sound of bruce’s cock driving into his hole.

“ahhng—oh, _oh_ , bruce—!” clark gasps when bruce strokes his cock, flicking the head on the upstroke. “ _please_.” he falls to bruce’s shoulders, hugging them as he rolls his hips back and forth.

bruce’s pace is slowing down. “please what?” he bites the underside of clark’s jaw and he pulls his cock out to tease the length along the crack of clark’s ass.

clark _mewls_. he bites the infuriating cleft on bruce’s chin as a payback before he cheats; pinning bruce’s hands on the sofa’s arm rests. he giggles, not unkindly, at bruce's growl of frustration. the older man is not going anywhere.

“what the fuck?”

“i’m working for it,” clark throws his head back as he feels himself stretched by bruce’s cock inch by inch. “ohgodyou’resuchamonster— _i’m_ —just sit back and relax.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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